Blood of the Innocent
by Assimbya
Summary: Lucy's first night as a vampire.


"_Lucy, arise from your grave, drink the blood of the innocent. Those who are without sin taste the sweetest of all." – Dracula, the Musical_

When Lucy Westerna opened her eyes again, stone surrounded her. Stone above her, making her unable to sit up, stone around her, not allowing her to move an either direction. There was fabric below her, red velvet, soft to the touch, but she could feel the stone beneath it. She felt a sudden desire to scream, to shriek, to behave in a way that she would have in any other circumstance considered the behavior of a maniac. But in that moment she felt as though all social conventions, all the things that she lived by for all twenty-two years of her life didn't exist. Nothing existed except her need to get out of this place, and this strange thirst that she felt burning within her like a flame that threatened to eat her away if she didn't get out soon and assuage it.

She pushed on the stone above her, desperate to get out, and, to her surprise, it gave way. She wasted no time in getting out of that stone prison, whatever it had been, and she found that she was still surrounded by stone, only with far greater room for movement.

And _he _was there.

The one from her dreams, the one who had told her that there was another choice, a fourth one, that she could follow him into the darkness and have a thousand lovers if she chose, each of them remembering her only as a hint of pleasure in the fringes of their minds. She could dance until dawn if she pleased, he told her, and no one would care a whit. She could have Arthur, and Jack, and Quincey too, in time, and they could be with her always and forever, and all of them content with such a situation. He'd shown her some other life of pleasure and triumph and freedom, and in that dream, surrounded by mist, she had nodded, and said that, yes, she wanted that.

But it hadn't been real. She had never thought that, even at the strange marks on her neck which had so worried Mina. As she had grown sicker and sicker, she had looked forward to the dreams more, the pleasure – so exotic, so unlike anything she had known – welcome in comparison with the weakness that consumed her each day.

They had become steadily less comforting, though, and that had eventually culminated in the night of her mother's death, which felt nightmarishly connect with those dreams. She could hardly remember the final dream, only a taste strangely like metal, which was unpleasant but which she remembered wanting more of. And the next day…of that she remembered longing, wanting Arthur to come to her, the strange feeling of wanting to make him hers, and that same thirst that she felt now. Van Helsing had not let Arthur come near her, that she remembered clearly. She had been angry about that, and after that she remembered no more.

And here she was with the man from those many dreams, and yet, she did not believe that this was a dream. First of all, there was none of the mist that had always enveloped her at the beginning of the dreams.

The man turned around to face her, and even though the room was completely dark, she could see his features clearly. His vivid green eyes were oddly comforting, and she was about to walk to his side when she caught sight of the stone top to whatever it was she had been trapped in and had flung on the ground. There was a metal plate attached to it. She leaned over to look at it, and saw the words written there.

_Lucy Marie Westerna_

_1871 – 1893_

She turned back to look at him, realizing suddenly where she was. "They _buried _me," she whispered, "I'm in a _tomb."_ He nodded, and took a step towards her, reaching out to touch her cheek. Instinctively she snarled and bared her teeth, a reaction which surprised her, but not as much as it should have. He laughed and spoke, his voice exactly as it had been in all the dreams. "There's no need for that, Lucy, my dear, though I admire your spirit."

She almost smiled at that, but the fact that she had apparently been presumed dead and buried made that slightly more difficult. He seemed to sense this however, for he took her hand and began to lead her toward the exit of the tomb. "There's no sense in staying here when all the world is ours."

Those words at least recalled the ones he had spoken in her many dreams, which comforted her until they were out of the stifling air of the tomb, and in what must be a graveyard (though, oddly, that didn't seem to matter to her) and standing near a yew tree. Then, she realized something. Her voice was slightly awed as she said, "You did what you promised me. You brought me away from it all, you set me free."

He put an arm around her waist, a gesture that was quite intimate, but somehow it did not feel wrong, did not feel as though she was betraying Arthur. "Of course. Did you imagine that I would not?"

She was hardly speaking in response to him, though she only moved closer to him than his gesture had already brought them, so close that her body was pressed against his. "I thought that it was all a dream…the things you showed me, the worlds you told me of, they couldn't be real. The life that you told me that you lived, such things didn't really exist. I thought that _you _didn't exist." She laughed slightly, and reached up to touch his cheek, as he had done with her only a few minutes ago, but he didn't snarl at the touch as she had. There was a long moment of complete silence, and then she spoke again, her voice a whisper. "What is your name?"

His voice was a whisper as well, as though he couldn't do anything but whisper in such a situation. "Vlad."

Their faces were close enough that she should be able to feel his breath against her skin, but she didn't, in fact, he didn't seem to be breathing – and neither did she. Somehow, this fact didn't concern her much. "Well, Vlad," she said, "I wouldn't mind a taste of that life you promised me."

The words sounded daring, improper to her ears, and if Arthur, or Jack, or Quincey had ever heard her say them she would have blushed terribly while trying to laugh it off. Of course, Jack would probably blush as well, and Arthur would stumble over his words in his embarrassment and Quincey would change the subject. But Vlad merely smiled and kissed her.

She returned his kiss with a passion that seemed fitting at the time, but should have made her feel terribly wanton. But it was wonderful, and somehow she found herself biting his tongue, and the taste of his blood was in her mouth, and it was wonderful, sweet, and perfect, and she wanted it, she needed it…

And before she understood what was happening, he had pushed her out of his arms and flung her to the ground. This was not the way she was used to being treated, and so she lay in shock for a moment, which was enough time for him to address her, his voice cold and harsh and unlike that of the man from her dreams, even in those last, terrifying ones that had been like nightmares. "You are never to attempt to feed from me without my consent, Lucy. You may be beautiful and an amusing distraction, and I may indulge you at some times, but you are still my Fledgling and I expect you to treat me with the according respect. Is that understood?"

In fact, she didn't quite understand everything he said, but it seemed safest to merely nod, as she certainly understood the main point of what he had just said. And though her first instinct was to attack him – something that really shouldn't have made as much sense as it did – the way his eyes were suddenly red and his canine teeth were extended and sharp, almost like fangs, made that seem like quite a bad idea. Just nodding and appearing remorseful must have been the right course of action, for Vlad seemed to become slightly less angry. "Since you obviously thirst so greatly, I believe it is time to teach you how to feed. Come with me."

He extended his hand to her, and she took it, walking with him silently for a few moments, not quite wanting to think about his sudden violence a few moments ago. But finally her need to understand the new impulses that were becoming ever more prevalent overcame any fear she might have of him. "What am I now?" she asked, "What does…feeding mean? And why did they believe that I was dead?"

Vlad didn't even paused before answering her question. "You are Undead, as I am. It was the only way to give you the life that you wanted. In this form, you need to feed on human blood to survive. During the day you remain in sleep and appear as one dead."

None of this was as shocking as it probably should have been, and indeed it made a great deal of sense in an odd way, fitting with every that had happened thus far this night, and with the taste like iron from the final dream that had been so repulsive and yet so welcome. It was just as she was beginning to wonder where they would get human blood when they came across a young boy.

They had left the graveyard some time ago, and though she had not paid attention to where they had gone, it was most obviously a deserted street in some part of London where she had never been. A child should certainly not be alone in such a place, but from the state of his clothing Lucy had to wonder if this child even had a home. Vlad stopped when they reached the child, and indicated the boy to her, saying, "He'll do for the first night. Normally I would advise you to not take enough to kill, unless you wish to start a plague of paranoia in your hunting grounds, but, as this is your first time and I know you must thirst greatly, take as much as you wish."

Though the idea of drinking human blood was seeming more and more appealing by the second, the idea of killing a child, especially one this young, was not. Lucy had never wanted to be a mother. She never had any particular affinity for children, and though they always had been in her mind something that would exist sometime in her future, it was always the distant future, a hazy time after she was married that she never really thought about. Even the thought of dead children, though, seemed simply wrong. Children weren't supposed to _die, _they were supposed to run around in the park without wearing all the clothes that they should be wearing and then grow into people who would either be interesting people, or dull ones. They didn't die.

"Lucy." Vlad's voice brought her out of her thoughts, and it was firm, not one she felt she could disobey, or wanted to. And she wanted to kill this child, that was true, because she wanted to, no, she _had _to, taste that metallic liquid again. She longed for it, and this longing was more real, more tangible than any other, somehow. Within that boy's veins could run so much blood. She needed it far more than he did. And so she picked up the child.

Miraculously, the boy didn't protest as she picked him up and held him against her breast. He merely settled his head down on her shoulder, as though she was his mother and she would never do anything to hurt him. It felt as though she had some kind of power over him, over everyone, really (except Vlad, of course. Vlad had power over her, and she was perfectly content with that).

It was wonderful to even hold him. She could feel his heart beating against her skin, and the sound of it echoed in her ears, all the louder because she could not hear her own heart's beat. She merely held him for a long moment, smelling the scent of his skin, his blood, a smell that she now associated with the word 'mortal', though she was not entirely sure why. But soon that smell, combined with the sound of his heartbeat, became too much. She lowered her mouth to her neck (she had no idea how she knew to do this; it was instinctive, like breathing had been before) and felt her fangs extending, as she had seen Vlad's extend before, when he had been angry with her. Then she sunk her fangs into the skin of his neck and bitten him.

The blood came as a rush, and it was warm, warmer than she had imagined blood would be. Her skin had felt icy since she had woken up in the tomb, and the new blood flowing into her warmed her skin, her veins, her very bones. It rejuvenated her too, making her feel as though she could dance all night the way she had always dreamed of doing. The taste was wonderful too, better than anything she could imagine.

She was completely connected to the boy as well. As his life faded it became hers, and she knew him as she had known no one else, understood him as she had understood no one else.

And yet she did not know him at all. She did not know his name, or his parents' names, or whether he liked the way the trees looked against a clear blue sky. That didn't matter. He himself didn't matter. He had been the first of her victims, but he would not be the last. In time she wouldn't even remember the sound of his heartbeat.

She let his body fall from her carelessly. She never had particularly wanted to be a mother, after all. She turned back to Vlad and began to walk back toward the graveyard.

And that had been the first night.


End file.
